<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>if my memory serves me correctly i made it a point to void and forget some things by nevergreen</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247828">if my memory serves me correctly i made it a point to void and forget some things</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevergreen/pseuds/nevergreen'>nevergreen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the best of times [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Angst, F/F, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, No Incest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:01:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,212</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247828</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevergreen/pseuds/nevergreen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Take some iced peach tea, put 4 spoons of sugar in it, mix it with vodka 1:3, and here it is, the <em>i-kissed-my-crush-and-he-told-me-i-dont-understand-anything</em> cocktail.<br/>It's disgusting. Have you expected anything else?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dave Strider/Dirk Strider, John Egbert/Karkat Vantas, Roxy Lalonde &amp; Dirk Strider, Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>the best of times [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1766806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>if my memory serves me correctly i made it a point to void and forget some things</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascendedGodhead/gifts">ascendedGodhead</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts"></a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for nox &amp; dave</p><p>thank you guys for all your support and inspiration</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>1.</strong><br/>
Once he’s inside the bus, Dirk drops himself on the front seat, tucks his legs and presses his temple into the cold hard glass. The door closes, and the vibration from the window echoes in his head, slightly. There are bright small lights everywhere, they’re starry blue even through his shades, and all the seats are new, and he can’t feel his legs up the knees, but it’s even better this way.</p><p>He should get off the bus as soon as it takes a turn twice. Three streets from the stop. Is it three or two? It’s the building with the giant red sign. Dirk has no idea what’s written on it, but he remembers the pulsating red throbbing under his eyelids. </p><p>“Wait!”, he hears a muffled shout behind the door and it hisses and opens again, unwillingly. It’s a tall girl in the puffy purple jacket, she chews on a cigarette and her backpack is just as rugged as her messy hair. Dirk looks at her short black nails clutching the back of the seat as she pushes through the seats and thinks: there's blood on his clothes, they’ve been piled up since Friday, he must wash them before they’re wasted. He looks in the window, and knows the expression on the face opposite too well. The face of a person about to throw up with everything he’s got today. </p><p>The tiny blue flickers on the shiny black are bright for the second; then they’re gone, but the door is still opened, and it gets colder every second. Dirk turns away and closes his eyes before he can see himself in the window again. Someone drops on the seat next to him, the door closes and the bus moves off. </p><p>Dirk doesn’t know where they are now. Everything looks the same from the stained window. His fingers start to numb, his lips are chapped and dry, it’s freezing inside. The first day is already over and Dirk fucked it up anyway and didn’t control himself near enough. The only thing he still needs to do is to count the streets and go back to his flat where space is suddenly multiplied by two and there’s a huge scratch on the bathroom door inside, right where he hit it with a phone. </p><p>“...grabbed me…and he’s….the hand… under the belt”, someone sniffles behind him. “I can’t go home I can’t-”<br/>
“You’ll stay at mine, we’re not going home, we’re not”, the voice is muffled and low, and worried, she trips slightly over every “not” and it makes them short rhetorical questions. “He won’t know, honey, I promise you he won’t, you’re not alone, I’m here, you see me? Look at me hon…”</p><p>Dirk presses his forehead into the window and axes off the feeling of the cold hard leather, the air thick with the smell of beer and the hand on his shoulder, gripping him steadily.</p><p> </p><p>Dave tries to get his phone from the pocket but it turns and twists as if it’s alive. The continuous vibrating doesn’t help either and he mutters some refined curses under his breath, tangled in a mess of headphones and his own fingers, cold and unresponsive. He manages to catch it the exact second the call stops, and Dave grabs it, slight annoyance is like hot water, it drops in a pit inside his stomach. Dave takes the phone out, elbows someone next to him and mutters oh fuck sorry before looking at the screen – it’s John, or course, who else could it be – and briefly eyeing his left. </p><p>Electric blue lights paint the skin white, the t-shirt grey, the hair ashen, and the only thing that crosses Dave’s mind like a comet is <em>what the everloving fuck how he is not cold</em>. His hands are on the knees, cut out gloves, lanky fingers and long nails, and Dave can see his collarbones under the neckline and <em>its the fucking tshirt at the end of the march and shades what a showoff</em>, he thinks again, terrified and carried away.</p><p>Then the phone in Dave’s hand comes to life again, sending a vibration up his bones as if they’re hollow and annoyance stings again, hot and bitter, but John’s voice is mellow and distant, it doesn’t ring in his head when he asks where Dave is. “The last bus I could take”, says Dave shrugging, and hears Childish Gambino playing in the background, and the song is to kiss and drink over. “If you fuckers start to kiss or drink before I come there I might as well come in the morning. Also you can tell KK to scream louder for the people in the back, because that’s just what this whole bus needs”.</p><p>John laughs softly in his ear, and someone sobs behind. Dave promises to be there soon, and to buy something sweet, and puts his phone back in the pit of his pocket where the cold coil of headphones wraps it immediately. The bus is quiet, and his stop is the next.</p><p>“It’s nothing”, the voice is quiet and low.<br/>
“What”, Dave turns left and there’s a hand in a messy ashen hair, and a pale pink mark on the bridge of his nose, his shades are lowered ever so slightly. The face is of someone who knows something but never tells you, and Dave blinks slowly at him.<br/>
“You said sorry. It’s nothing”.</p><p>“I said <em>oh fuck sorry</em>, which is an entirely different thing”, Dave corrects him, moving slightly away not to elbow him again. “You save <em>sorry</em> for the old ladies in the queue, and you say <em>im sorry</em> when you are not to bug it off, but <em>oh fuck sorry</em> is the most sincere way you can say <em>i don't feel good about crashing my elbow into your pliant flesh bro</em>”.<br/>
There’s a smile on a narrow face, brief but distinct, and fingers untangle from the hair and put the shades back. “How many ways of saying ‘sorry’ you know?”</p><p>“The best ones are not safe neither for work nor for any environment having more than two people around”, Dave answers willingly, he still takes a little pleasure in bickering with people he doesn’t know, it’s the only thing he misses about the uni. It rolls from his tongue far too easily and he already prepares the next one when the bus stops. They both stand up; he’s taller, and he goes first, briefly looking back. Dave follows.</p><p>It’s so cold outside he shivers under his jacket and zips it, barely missing the skin of his neck between the scoops. The empty backpack is flat and cold behind his back, and it reminds Dave of his promise to bring some sweets. He looks around and spots him again – the man from the bus, he walks down the street, the direction is opposite Dave’s.<br/>
For a brief second Dave watches him – he’s white, tall and fair, like a ghost - but his trainers are ridiculously, outrageously blue and red, it’s something that John would wear with the pajama pants buying milk at 6 am on Sunday at the local store with a completely oblivious teenage girl at the cashier stand flirting with him. </p><p>This thought is familiar but not comforting anymore, and Dave finally turns and walks away. There’s something that waits for him, a small flat and two of his best friends that went off the rails of friendship and committed a fucking suicide under the relationship train, and they won’t let him in without the fucking chocolate, won’t they.</p><p> </p><p><strong>2.</strong><br/>
It’s the second week of April, and the weather gets warmer. Dirk still doesn’t wear a jacket, and he still takes the same bus home, and the sign on the building is still an ugly pulsating red that greets him every evening. He remembers it now, distant and soft, tamed and pinkish, painting Jake’s face and making him even younger. It’s not a good memory, it’s not a bad memory, it’s tasteless and borrowed, but it doesn’t go away, and Dirk doesn’t try to replace it. As long as it doesn’t make him sick and angry. He’s got better things to do, to control and remember.</p><p>It’s only when Nepeta asks him to come to Vriska’s DnD party on Friday, that’s when the void purrs and claws him inside, and Dirk thinks for a second he’s about to throw up, and anger boils in his stomach, but then it’s alright, he swallows the lump in his throat and barely lifts his head from the pillow. His voice is low and quiet when he asks her, who else will come. He’s being a good friend, tells Dirk to himself, that’s why he’s asking and not hanging up. Nepeta tells him with the flickering enthusiasm in her voice, and Dirk listens till the end, like a polite and friendly person he is, and replies with “I’m sorry”, and doesn’t feel like a polite and friendly person he is. He’s not sorry, not in the slightest. <em>Call me if you go, she's DMing and the campaign is long this time</em>, tells him Nepeta with the slightly dimmed enthusiasm in her voice, and hangs up before Dirk does it. Vriska made her do it, it’s quite obvious. Telling “no” to Vriska feels like closing a phishing site, telling “no” to Nepeta is more like turning down your little sister with homework – it's mighty Vriska The Guilt Tripper, and she's back to the action.</p><p>At least there’s no Jake in the list, and there are only three new people, and Vriska is the best dungeon master if he ever saw a good one, Dirk thinks, and rolls from his mattress on the cold hard floor. This apartment is just way too big for him alone now, it dissipates all his energy and dims it under the high ceilings.<br/>
Maybe he should get a cat. Or a neighbor.</p><p> </p><p>He jumps in a bus the second before the door is closed, and it’s almost full, just two or three empty seats here and there. The aisle is narrow and there are knees and pockets, elbows and backpacks, and Dirk steps carefully, not to touch anybody. He goes for the closest seat, which is still too far, and the bus is moving, and Dirk falls on it limply and thinks: <em>it’s like a season of family reunions and shitty superhero blockbusters combined.</em></p><p>When Dirk leans to the back of the seat, a t-shirt sticks to his back, and when he turns to look at the window, his eyes stick to the pair of aviators in front of him, and the face of a person who knows so many ways of saying sorry and perhaps never uses them. He holds a small carton of juice with the straw picking out. This time he’s without his jacket, and the recognition painted on his face is alive and kicking. The smile is on his face, ever so slight, and Dirk asks the the first thing that rolls out of his tongue:<br/>
“Family reunion or shitty superhero blockbuster?” </p><p>“Both”, and the smile is still here, and Dirk thinks abruptly: there is it, Vriska’s DMing of smiles, “my dumbass friends dating each other and a fucking romcom slash action that’s so unbelievably bad all the shitty superhero blockbusters lined up and wanked off each other crying happily”. He takes away the straw, crumples up the carton and puts it in his pocket, and his smile fades slowly. “You?”</p><p>“Neither”, Dirk shrugs. “Executing social responsibilities and being bad at it”.<br/>
“So you’re late for work”, he sums up and Dirk looks at his sunlit face, fair and soft at the edges, in a futile attempt to guess how old he is. He looks entrancingly unbothered by everything in the world, to the same degree Dirk himself was anxious about everything the past months. Familiar feeling, viscous and burning, rises at the back of his throat, but Dirk swallows it back, it’s easier than ever. </p><p>“No offence, bro, but does your place have a strict proanime policy? Are these company property? Asking for a friend”, and he nods at Dirk’s shades. It’s not even funny, but Dirk lets out a chuckle and plays along:<br/>
“I also own a katana but they’re forbidden in public transport.”<br/>
“They don’t know shit.”</p><p>“They don’t know a single ounce of it”, Dirk agrees. It’s a fellow feeling that he has, that happens when someone is under your personal limelight and you know this person is never to be seen again, so you stare shamelessly and forget them the day after, except that Dirk remembers – the first time he saw him, and the second time, he feels it imprinting as well. They share a comfortable but watchful silence for the rest of the trip. Dirk looks past his shoulder. The day is mild and bright. The throbbing pain in his hand is so slight he doesn’t register it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Roxy messages him when he’s at work, and Dirk knows exactly what it’s going to be. Still, he’s a bit surprised that she’s so persistent. It’s only logical she is, he would do the same for her, Dirk reckons, feeling ashamed by the fact that he’s just a tiny bit annoyed by her persistence, and opens the message.</p><p><span class="roxy">TG: cmon dirk dont be a buzzkill</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: don’t kill the buzz</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: ur gonna go outside someday u kno that</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: You’re not gonna drag me.</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: im not but ur basking ur tiptoes in hot waterr there di stri</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: its the third campaign ur ignoring</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: yo check me sleppin</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: spelling ZZZZZZZZ</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: if pullin ur ass out is the thing i need to do to clear out the stockpile of bad stuff we collected so far</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: dont u WORRY strider, thats the thing im gonna perform </span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: your j problem needs a cute</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: cure*</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: if theres a person that can make u come its me!</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Oh my god, Rox.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Why are you so inclined to make me go there? Is there some elaborate plan? Are you going to play spin the bottle and lock me in the wardrobe?</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: u mean u and jakester? nah you knoe hes been avoidin everything</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: hes at his pops not even around</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: i miss u sourface</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: It’s Friday, right.</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: africative</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: afrimative*</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: yes</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: I’ll come. I’d like to see you too.</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: YESSSSSS i meet u and greet u and tz will be crazy about it</span><br/>
<span class="roxy">TG: see ya!! &lt;333333</span></p><p>He misses Roxy too, and it’s not a pleasantry, she’s probably the last person he would lie to. The last time he saw her was a month ago, and he wasn’t in a particularly good shape back then, the realization kicks in. Maybe he was way too engulfed in his own problems for a while. Dirk briefly taps both Vriska and Nepeta, and tells him he’ll be there tomorrow. Both are happy, both aren’t really surprised, and Dirk wonders if Roxy was so sure she’ll be able to persuade him. </p><p> </p><p><strong>3.</strong><br/>
The next day is warm and windy, and a bit rainy, just enough not to be uncomfortable. Dirk comes to Vriska’s after work, he doesn’t even go home first, and he’s still fashionably late. It’s not a problem, though – the only thing he knows about Vriska’s campaigns is that they’re existing outside of the lapse of time and every second is as good to start as the previous one. He drops off the bus and walks to the end of the street at not exactly the fastest pace he could pull off.</p><p>Vriska’s house is a big ass old haphazard put together by nothing other than fortune itself. Vriska proudly calls it Happenstance, other people call it <em>what the fuck is on your fucking ceiling</em> or <em>why is there a fireplace in your bathroom</em> if the day is good and no one has broken anything yet. Vriska claims that there are 8 bedrooms and a sex dungeon; for some reason Dirk is more prone to believe her than others. She owns an enormous collection of plush spiders, it’s ominously big and is the main reason why Dirk never stays there overnight. He isn’t the type to stay overnight, anyway - at least not anymore.</p><p>Dirk stands outside for a minute; the dark blue facade blinks at him owlishly with the windows all forms and sizes. There are yellow footsteps under one of them on a second floor. Vriska’s mailbox screeches quietly under the wind, and a porthole-like window on the first floor opens with a punch. Or a kick, there’s nothing to be sure about in Happenstance.</p><p>“DIRK STRIDER!”, yells Terezi, half out of the window, her hands are dangling freely, and Dirk rushes forward to catch her without the second thought. She catches him instead, grabbing his neck and sniffing his head loudly, her glasses tangle in Dirk’s hair. “Mhm. You smell cool enough today”.<br/>
“How did you know I was outside? Did my sudden appearance heal you in a miraculous way? Don’t bother, I know how thankful you are”, Dirk carefully untangles from her arms and steps back, brushing his hair with fingers. </p><p>“Your hair smells nice, but your sense of humor still stinks”, she grins at him, putting her glasses back. “Vriska saw you and told me to bring you inside”.<br/>
“Not through the window, I hope. Okay, tell her I’m coming”. Dirk steps out of the grown, weather-bitten lawn. Terezi grins and shuts down the window with a deafening bang.<br/>
The door is not locked, and when Dirk pushes it and steps inside, Happenstance greets him with a glorious seven centimeters of oak and fancy clinkers slapping his ass with a full force.</p><p>The corridor is brightly lit, and there is a pile of shoes already dumped on a doormat and thoroughly displaced, Vriska just loves doing that, thinks Dirk and sighs. He feels slightly dizzy just by looking at the way all the shoelaces are entangled together.<br/>
“It’s a mating season”, a purr over his ear and Nepeta’s chin is on his shoulder. “They’re mating and having baby shoes together”.</p><p>“I’d prefer my trainers not to mix their top notch genetic material with anything else, thank you”, Dirk bends down to untie them and Nepeta steps back with a laugh. She’s got a new hairband with fuzzy ears attached, they’re big and purple, and they swing when she shakes her head. “Why are all of you guys so inclined on touching me today?”</p><p>“Because we haven’t got to see your glorious ass from that point of view for whole couple months, di stri”, there’s a thump and a laugh, and Dirk straightens up. Roxy leans against the wall with a cheesecake poorly drawn on it, she holds a cup with a knitted cover and looks so unbelievably glad to see him that Dirk tells himself he doesn’t deserve anything good in the world if he won’t hug her right now. She hugs him first, though – she’s always been first at giving affection, and Dirk puts arms around her waist and quietly says “hello, Rox” somewhere in her hair. She smells warm, like a cat. </p><p>“YOU STARE AT EACH OTHER VERY AWKWARDLY. THERE ARE TEARS ROLLING DOWN YOUR CHEEKS”, rumbles Vriska outside the door at the end of the corridor. There are people arguing already, and dice rolling, and papers rustling. “Keep coming late and you miss all the campaigns”, says Roxy with a quirk little smile, releasing him from the hug, and Dirk shrugs. “I’m kind of tired of playing pirates anyway. Also, knowing Vriska, it’s at least three sessions more”. He looks at Nepeta and frowns. “Why aren’t you there, with them?”<br/>
“I was killed”, Nepeta makes a face – nasty, but cute nevertheless. “Vriska told me to go greet you and then make myself a new character”.</p><p>The door to the living room opens with a squeak and a ruffed black-haired head peeps out. He’s wearing glasses and for a brief second Dirk thinks <em>fuck, they brought him here</em>, but it goes away just as fast when he cracks the widest smile Dirk has ever seen.</p><p>“Roxy! Nepeta! An unknown cool dude! Come here, they have just walked Dave down the plank and there’s a riot coming, we need more people”.<br/>
“If you ask me, it’s just a teensy weensy bit suspicious that he got all chummy with Vriska so fast”, mutters Roxy, “also ‘we need more people’ is not exactly how DnD works”. She nudges Dirk, and her <em>come on di stri</em> slightly eases off the thick heavy feeling that fills his chest to the brim.</p><p>“So you’re telling me I have a fucking time rewind spell but can’t rewind shit? What the fuck is the roleplaying game where I can’t play my role?”<br/>
“You rolled natural 1 on wisdom, dude, you cannot even reblink”, Vriska scribbles vigorously in a character sheet. “Okay, kid, just for the first time- oh, Dirk!”</p><p>The feeling of being filled with heaviness envelops Dirk completely for a second – and then slowly wears off. Dirk feels lightweight and just a bit dizzy, stepping forward.<br/>
“So it’s Dirk, huh. I’m Dave. You have a shitton of friends, dude”, he sips from his mug and smiles. There are more people at the table: the one that went out earlier, and Terezi, and some more, Dirk doesn’t know them but they don’t spark an ounce of interest in him. He clears his throat and answers thoughtlessly:<br/>
“I have a few, but my friends have a lot of friends”.</p><p>Dave chuckles, taking his character sheet from Vriska and putting the mug back on the table.<br/>
“So I’m not in the game anymore, right? Fine by me”.</p><p> </p><p>They go to the kitchen together, they mix some juice and iced tea and eat banana bread and explore the house. Dave is quite a good cook, Dirk can’t cook for shit. Dave has freckles, Dirk has scars, and they listen to the same music. Dave is a chaotic good, Dirk is a lawful evil. Of course, Dave doesn’t believe him when Dirk says so. Dirk doesn’t mind. It feels so strange to know his name, it’s not a occasionality realm anymore. When Dirk asks Dave who invited him, it turns out that Vriska’s friendship net is all over Dave's uni. “Karkat knows her”, says Dave, looking sideways, “since they were kids”. Then he opens another door and whistles in amusement. “This whole place is nuts. Shit, is this a fucking fireplace in the bathroom?”</p><p>Dirk realizes that his hands are nowhere to put around, and shoves them down his tight pockets. “It’s Happenstance. Things just happen here”.<br/>
“Does she really have a sex dungeon, though?” Dave asks, his eyes gleaming. Dirk doesn’t have guts to disappoint him. Besides, he isn’t sure himself. “I believe she does. I also believe she’ll hang us alive if we find it, and it won’t be for roleplaying purposes”.</p><p>They sit in the living room, and Roxy is playing too, she sits on the coffee table because she’s in prison and when Vriska announces she’s been bitten by rats to death, Dirk is surprised when Dave stretches out and gives a slight pinch on her side. When they laugh, their voices are ringing up the ceiling and everybody at the table looks at them. Tips of Dirk’s fingers are itching. </p><p>Dirk makes a conscious decision to stop following everything that happens in the game since the middle of it and just drifts away listening. He hasn’t been with the company that big since last year and they don’t seem to mind anyway. It’s only when Dave asks Vriska how often they come together, Dirk snaps out of it.<br/>
“Wanna come again?” Vriska grins, and Dave says “sure” like it’s the most certain thing in the world.</p><p>Dirk doesn’t ask how old he is, but Dave asks him for his contacts and Dirk gives him all his social media, and there’s a thought, uncertain and hazy: he still has no clue what Dave thinks about his existence. </p><p> </p><p><strong>4.</strong><br/>
They still see each other on the bus from time to time just because, apparently, their everyday routes are so tangled it’s a fucking Disney movie. Dirk wonders how come they’ve never met before but never asks. </p><p>They message each other often, but never discuss anything even loosely resembling personal stuff. Dave tells Dirk about university, Dirk tells Dave about work. Dirk tells him stories of his – their – friends, even a couple of words about Jake, but Dave doesn’t really like to speak neither about his own friends nor his family. Instead he sends Dirk photos – a lot of them, some of them are crappy but some are breathtaking, and Dirk even saves them. Dave never sends any photos of himself, though, not even once, but they exchange music at an alarming song/message ratio. </p><p>Dave’s schedule appears to be somewhat chaotic and Dirk never knows when he’ll be online again. Sometimes Dave messages him in the middle of the night, rambling about strawberry jellies he dropped in coffee. Sometimes he’s absent for a full day, and then he’s short-spoken and seems down. Dirk isn’t sure at which point he’s allowed to use the “aren’t we friends” card to make him speak about it, he isn’t even sure what cards he has at hand, isn’t sure why he wants Dave to speak at all.</p><p>Their interests are somewhat similar but different enough to produce lengthy discussions and evaluate each other on them. Dirk is good at evaluating things, he’s consistent, true-blue, close-knit, even-keeled, texts sent to resubmit, feeling of being unfulfilled, unskilled, fuck it, don’t send it. Instead he asks Dave for his address and sends him a pack of scratch-off shiny golden stars with top 40 entries from the urbandictionary written inside he had from last Christmas because he suspects Dave might like it. The same evening Dave sends him a selfie with a <em>strugglebus</em> sticker on his cheek. The next day they meet at Vriska’s again, and Dave is the one who opens the door for him. </p><p>“It will slap you hard if you don’t hold it right”, Dirk warns him. Dave chuckles and presses his hand to Dirk’s chest firmly, holding the door with one hand. When he removes his palm, it’s another sticker, slightly out to the left. “You may want to scratch it, don’t hold yourself”, that’s what Dave says before letting go of the door and vanishing down the corridor. </p><p>Dirk scratches it off in the nearest bathroom and laughs until his throat hurts and eyes are wet, then stands up and looks at himself in the mirror: the <em>dudebro</em> star shaped golden sticker shimmers in the cold dim light. It doesn’t seem ironic anymore, it could simply be the most cringeworthy moment in his life, Dirk thinks, and Dave played along with it, it’s unbelievable, he just can’t be the real person. </p><p>The campaign is going on full speed and Dirk feels good thinking he could chime in every second he wants but still doesn’t. It gives him a slight feeling of being in charge, the one he lacked so badly the past few months. Dave isn’t playing either, for his own reasons, he never bothers to explain, and Dirk doesn’t ask him. They usually sit on a couch together with Roxy and presumably dead people, mocking their sudden departure and drinking whatever is there in Vriska's kitchen. She didn’t like them not participating at first, but then got used to them commenting things, it feels like a football match now, she says grinning, and does she fucking hate football but this kind of it – this is decent, it’s allowed in Happenstance, so make yourself a wild pepper tea you fuckers and proceed with whatever you call that.</p><p>“It’s basically a podcast”, says Roxy once, sipping something bright blue, it smells like sparkles and berries. “A true crime podcast. More blood, less sense, hella gay.” Dirk is nodding and everyone is laughing so Dirk forgets to look at Dave, to see if he nodded too. When he does, there’s just a smile, and Dirk realizes: <em>it’s fucking Matt Mercer’s DMing of smiles, sorry, Vriska, your trophy belongs to the antic now</em>.</p><p>When he comes home, the flat seems bigger than ever and Dirk doesn’t even go past the hall, he drops himself on the floor and takes out his phone. Dave has written him something and Dirk would give himself the time to speculate what could it be a month earlier, but not now, really; he just taps on the screen now. He got used to all Dave’s patterns and thoughts by now, he basically has all kinds of flowcharts about him in his head. It bothers him, slightly but ceaselessly, and thinking about it is the next step of admitting so he just doesn’t and reads the messages instead.</p><p>
  <span class="dave">TG: you know it was kinda okay at first</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i even thought that nothing changed i mean what the fuck is a relationship if not just a bit twisted friendship with a pinch of fuckery stuff and you can also walk naked</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: it was normal and then boom it suddenly isnt a fucking meteor is at your fireplace and your whole house is a fireplace too burn motherfucker</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: at least i wish it was sudden but oh no apparently because my friends are decent people it couldnt be that fast</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: it was okay and every day it became a bit less okay until its now and its not even remotely okay</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: now you see im not a jealous type of person im cool with fucking everything but they seem like different people now</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: you were eating a cheeseburger and its filet o fish now</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: fuck im hungry</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i don’t understand how am i supposed to feel about this they always had someone i didnt even know who and now its a fucking one sided loop of them locked into each other</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: them being entirely different people i just dont understand now</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: theres no way to make everything alright again i shouldnt be there clouding their view on fucking happiness</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: its like the whole get back to normal thing is behind a huge ass door to the laboratory protected with password and im the test monkey with half of the brain removed trying to get a code</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: they changed and i didnt thats what makes it fucked up all of it</span>
</p><p>Dirk’s mind is finishing the picture so fast it even scares him a bit. Dave’s friends, a wizard and a monk in the game, matching sweaters in reality, two cans of soda, affectionate hands and ruffled heads. Dirk never talked to them, just watched a bit before his own turns. Dave, chatting with Roxy, looking sideways. Them, leaving the house together and Dave who was the last to leave.</p><p><span class="dave">TG: are u here</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: dude blink twice if ur abducted</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Where are you?</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: at the bus stop</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: also wtf</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: It’s not like I’m big on all that speaking thing, it’s your domain, so I thought maybe you need a company more than advice.</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: uh okay you know what</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: fuck it</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: maybe</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i am</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Don’t go anywhere.</span></p><p>Dirk gets up so fast he’s dizzy for a second, shoves the phone in his back pocket and looks around for keys. There’s a burning, acidic feeling inside, and Dirk shushes it down, splashes it with a fucking bucket of a liquid nitrogen, he’s doing that for the past few weeks, pretending he doesn’t understand what it means, the words of his counterpart.<br/>
<em>You did it once.</em><br/>
<em>You did it once, Dirk, you pathetic sack of shit, and you ruined the life of another person doing it, and you’re going to do the same. </em></p><p>“He doesn’t even like me that way”, says Dirk loudly to himself as he ties up his shoelaces and straightens up. The darkness of his flat gulps down his words, goes still for a moment and doesn’t react.<br/>
<em>But you like him. You do. That’s all it takes.</em><br/>
When Dirk is outside, the cold fresh air slaps him across the hot, wet face as he runs down the street. </p><p> </p><p><strong>5.</strong><br/>
They sit on his mattress legs crossed and eat slightly stiffened marshmallows from Dirk’s cupboard. Dave doesn’t make any comments on his lack of bed and proper food, he just eats a handful at once and talks until the sky is pink and orange. Dirk stretches out his legs, he feels rigid in his clothes and Dave is probably tired too, he thinks, rubbing his neck. Dave leans on the wall and watches the ceiling glowing gold, the whole room is sunlit now and Dirk is suddenly aware of the space around him, its existence is sharp and kicking, it’s like he never saw it before. </p><p>“You know, I had a crush on him”, Dave says flatly. “KK, I mean. It’s not like it messes up the whole situation, except that it does.” He blinks slowly, rubs his eyes and brushes back hair with his fingers. “Even if I don’t have it now.”</p><p>“A crush,” says Dirk slowly. The word is grainy and bitter on his tongue, and he would prefer not to talk about it, but he has no reason to refuse. “Does he know?”<br/>
Dave slips down the wall and curls on Dirk’s blanket. “No, it goes way worse, bro,” he answers after a couple of seconds, his voice is muffled as he tries to make himself comfortable. “John knows”. </p><p>“It’s a bit too intense for just three people involved”, Dirk slumps down, ignoring the dull, throbbing ache inside, kicking his ribs meticulously, and lies on his thin pillow, just a bit away. He can see Dave’s hair painted peach and holds himself from reaching it, but then Dave presses his back into Dirk’s cold and stiff legs. His warmness is seeping through and making Dirk sleepy. “Maybe you need to be by yourself for a while”, and he’s on himself again, spitting fire and venom in his guts. Dave doesn’t notice. “I should go home,” he mumbles. “How much are your fucking bills, dude? The flat is hella big and you only occupy one room. Don’t you want to get a cat at least?”</p><p>“Roxy asks me every other week”, Dirk chuckles and closes his eyes. Dave fiddles with his blanket for a while, then stands up and wobbles on a mattress. “Okay, do you have a couch or something like that? I won’t have the chance to sleep in such okay of an apartment for a while more, also I assume that your walls have seen things worse”. His voice wavers just a tiny bit, and Dirk sits on the bed to look at him. “The other room. There’s a bathroom down the hall, you can take my t-shirt, the microwave is not working”, and instead of all these things the one that he really wants to say is “Don’t worry”. </p><p>“Don’t worry,” says Dave instead of him. “You don’t even have to make me breakfast, honey, just tell me there’s no one who shoots off my balls with a shotgun as soon as they come home in the evening”. It’s obviously not a question, so Dirk didn’t answer, but Dave is looking at him, waiting for something, and the only thing that comes to mind is “good night”.</p><p>So Dirk mumbles it, and Dave smiles.<br/>
“Sleep tight,” he says quietly, grabs the blanket and shuts the door.</p><p> </p><p>When Dirk opens his eyes, it’s getting dark. His mouth feels like a dumpster and all his limbs are grown numb.<br/>
He saw a dream, he thinks, unsure and hazy, there was a high-rise apartment, just like his own, dark roads, pink and red light, <em>people</em>. The room is in a soft semi-darkness, it’s dusky and quiet, and Dirk lies down for a bit, before he remembers: Dave. He’s probably still here. Dirk scrambles himself out of the mattress, his legs aren’t cooperating – and tumbles out of the room.  </p><p>He finds a made couch in the other room and Dave in the kitchen. He sits on the short round chair, spinning it slowly, and texts someone. His eyes are gleaming in a soft blue light, and Dirk wonders who’s he talking to. Dave seems particularly disturbed with the conversation, so Dirk steps forward and clears his throat.<br/>
“Good, I started to feel lonely all by myself,” Dave puts his phone on a counter, screen down, and stands from the chair. He’s still in his own clothes, and looks like he could use a couple of hours of sleep more. “What a pretty morning face in that outstanding evening.”</p><p>“How did you sleep?”, it’s the best that Dirk manages to come up with, while brushing his messy hair with fingers. Dave makes a face that’s neither an approval nor displeasure. “Would be better if I didn’t hallucinate like I’ve thrown over the whole stash of the New York police department. And now I need to go before they find me.”<br/>
He shoves his phone down the pocket and stands up. “But really, I need to go home. My brother is all sorts of pleasantries today.”</p><p>“Is he worried?” Dirk raises his eyebrows and Dave laughs silently. “You can put it like that if you tug on it until the face is on the ass.”<br/>
He isn’t going anywhere, though, and it seems again like he’s waiting for something. They look at each other for the whole three or four seconds, before Dave finally steps forward and hugs him, his arms are quick and heavy. “Thanks,” he mutters and goes away the very second Dirk slowly raises his own hand. “See you later, I guess.”</p><p>He pushes past Dirk, rustles with his clothes in the hall, goes silent for a second then asks loudly:<br/>
“Are you going to open the door and kiss me goodbye?”</p><p>Dirk shakes his head – everything still feels hazy and unreal – and walks up the front door. When he opens it, Dave looks at him – his lips are chapped and eyes are tired – and says quietly:<br/>
“It feels like I should and shouldn’t be here at the same time. Like there’s a timeline where I never went here and you know it and try to decide which one is better”.</p><p>They stand way too close, and Dirk briefly thinks: this boy, he knows. He knows everything. And oh my god, he has no idea. No fucking clue. One in that goddamn hall completely owns the ass of another, and Dirk isn’t picking sides. He’s fucking blinded to actually choose his own.<br/>
“Sorry, won’t kiss you, sweetheart, my morning breath is unsurvivable,” Dirk answers instead. When he closes the door, Dave smiles again. Dirk doesn’t return it. </p><p> </p><p><strong>6.</strong><br/>
The third session of a campaign is coming, and Dirk wakes up on Friday with a particular feeling of oversleeping. He lies down and looks at the ceiling for some time, then finds his phone. It’s 4 am, and he has got a headache and three messages already. The more he looks at the screen, the more distinct and clear is the pain in his temples, ringing inside his skull like an old phone in a silent mode.<br/>
He might as well just ignore it, Dirk thinks, knowing that he can’t. The best he can do is to leave it on read, and Dirk is achingly aware he isn’t able to do this even, because he still holds himself responsible for everything.</p><p>
  <span class="jake">GT: Hey dirk.</span><br/>
<span class="jake">GT: I suggest you might want to talk howbeit the topic is still unpleasant for both.</span><br/>
<span class="jake">GT: There’s no blame.</span><br/>
<span class="jake">GT: It’s still a complicated manner for me being around you but there is every likelihood for us to be on good terms still methinks.</span><br/>
<span class="jake">GT: We happened to have a good fellowship and i miss you as my friend.</span><br/>
<span class="jake">GT: I consider we can make amends in some way so why dont we discuss it in a more civilized way sometime?</span>
</p><p>He’s offline for a good hour by now, and Dirk stares at the screen for a few minutes. Jake’s short sentences seem like they’re cut in the middle, like he was rushing, or awkward, or just didn’t know what to say. Screw it, Dirk mutters, he’s still got at least two hours of sleep more. He’ll answer later, when his head is clear enough.<br/>
After half an hour of twisting and turning Dirk kicks the blanket, swears profoundly and gets up. He brushes his teeth meticulously until he spits blood, splashes his face with the cold water and wipes it on his t-shirt hanging around. </p><p>Dirk opens a window, and it’s barely starting to brighten up outside, the air is still a bit cold, it’s that crispy coldness you sometimes get in the spring morning that tells you: not summer yet, you funny man without a jacket, have a runny nose for a week. He stands half outside his window until his head hurts a bit less and he’s shivering, then closes it and slumps back on his unmade bed.</p><p>
  <span class="dirk">TT: Hello. Sure, why not.</span>
</p><p>He can’t bring himself to write anything else and just scrolls this short pathetic mockery of a dialogue for a while, back and forth. There’s a feeling of uneasiness in every single word, that kind of it people have when they realize they don’t have a way with that particular person anymore. Dirk can’t bring himself to feel anything distinct enough about this, it’s a burning coil of shame and worry and self-hatred he abandoned all hope to untangle. It gets better, it’s the only thing that he feels. The only person standing there, in the middle of the problem, is him, Dirk Strider in the flesh, and he’s, coincidentally, the only person he still has to deal with.<br/>
He was, at least, and now there’s another one, and when Dirk opens his messages, it feels like every movement of his fingers is tugging a string tied to his guts.</p><p><span class="dave">TG: whatcha doin</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i cant sleep</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: sleep is lava</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: so im chilling 8000 ft above sea level sipping my apple crisp w extra maple syrup</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: im not in the mood for playing games guess the whole server is mourning till tomorrow at least</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: this and the fact terezi ditched me over doing some dumb vriskashit</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: shes still mad i caught them making out in the bedroom i cant believe</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: What did you do in her bedroom?</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: you wont believe me</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i stayed overnight the first time because it was kinda late to go home anyway and going home sucks balls its not a phase mom</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: vriska told me i can land it anywhere i want shes got plenty and i said oi can i take some plush dudes of yours</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: she went fucking fluorescent like a night club stamp under the blacklight and told me to go and take the biggest one girl just wants her spideys to be appreciated im telling ya</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i went to brush my teeth and wash my face from the struggles of being so damn awesome the whole day</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: and went to look for the biggest one just to make it hug me with all its plushy squishy tickly paws</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: so i checked the first floor step inside the bedroom on the second and its the fucking full moon and terezi is going on vriska like gwen fucking stefany on spiderman</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i bet all three of us thought fuck me for entirely different reasons each</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: It’s Gwen Stacy.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Also fuck you.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: The burden of knowledge is way too heavy.</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i know dude i just cant be only one keeping that damn heavens from falling</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: anyway i took the plushy bastard and quietly tiptoed out</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: they didnt end me in my sleep but tz still a fucking salt mountain about it like a whole red sea i swear</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: i mean if she caught me i wouldnt even blink</span><br/>
<span class="dave">TG: why arent u sleeping anyway</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Hell if I know, I just woke up for no reason at all. I mean, listening to your stories makes up for it.</span> </p><p>They exchange a few more messages before the sun is up, Dirk is sitting with the laptop in the kitchen, half-dressed, and Dave asks him if he’s going to be at the party today. Sure, Dirk answers, and he is entirely aware that Dave is the main source of his own enthusiasm. The whole <em>don’t do it</em> machine is already set up and aimed inside his head, it’s messing up with everything Dirk has with Dave, and for a second he even considers talking to him. Yeah, it would be the right thing to do, take the phone right now and write <em>listen Dave please don’t get me wrong but I think we shouldn’t hang out together because I kinda fancy you and that means I will hurt you, one way or another</em>. Then the second passes and Dirk thinks bitterly <em>wow yeah why aren’t you sparing Roxy then?</em></p><p>The answer is simple, so easy to get, really, but <em>what the fuck is a relationship if not just a bit twisted friendship with a pinch of fuckery stuff</em>, says Dave in his head, and Dirk tells him, quietly and honestly, like giving out a secret: <em>a relationship is the constant waiting, a constant struggle and a long run to prove something</em>. You see the clouds and everyone else tells you it’s going to be a nice day outside, but clouds are the only thing that is on the extended forecast. This sounds shitty even for an internal monologue, so Dirk cuts himself out and opens the third dialogue. He still has some time before he has to leave. </p><p>There’s nothing unusual about her messages, just a bunch of cat pics and couple of links he asked her about, so Dirk just types in quick <em>thanks</em> and then writes out everything he wanted to say. He feels guilty just typing it, the guilt is seeping through him, and it’s the only feeling he deserves and the only one he gets eventually. Still, he can’t stop himself from being selfish this time.</p><p><span class="dirk">TT: Hey.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: I guess you’re sleeping.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: That’s good, I just wanted to talk, but the active participation in dialogue may actually turn out worse, so. Thank you for being so sleeping and cooperative.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: What would I do without you.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: The point is, I feel like shit.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: I don’t fit in this stuff, Rox. I’m tired of people glorifying me and thinking I’m an actual decent person when they don’t know anything.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: But I know. I remember everything that happened with Jake.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: I fucked up badly, and things happen, of course, but when this exact kind of thing happens, it’s always outright bad and every person involved or watching would prefer it not happening at all. There are no sides. You reminisce it with a single feeling of “oh my god how can someone fuck up so many times in a row”.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: The thing is, I’m still here. I moved on with Jake but I doubt I moved on with all that stuff in my head that makes me do that.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: I won’t like the outcome. He won’t like the outcome. No one would like it.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: So why is there even an option?</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: I guess I just needed to remind myself in the form different from my usual non-verbal conversations with myself.</span><br/>
<span class="dirk">TT: Thank you, Rox. Good night.</span></p><p>She will read it later and freak out, thinks Dirk wearily. Poor Roxy. She’s been suffering from him, with him, through everything that happened to him. He made her life shitty as well, it seems just as sure as that he fucked up with Dave. It’s different this time, he still can fix at least some of it, it’s just the collateral damage, but the overall result is worth it, it must be worth it.</p><p> </p><p><strong>7.</strong><br/>
Today it’s peach green tea and cheese balls at Happenstance, and the sofa in the living room which is already bent by their backs. When Dirk goes inside, Dave isn’t there yet – but Roxy is. He carefully drops beside her, and she’s smiling, that kind of smile that twists everything inside Dirk, the loving one.</p><p>“Did you read your messages?” he asks warily, and she blinks at him. “You mean if I made Jake message you? If it’s the case, you bet I am. The whole problem exists because you didn’t talk to each other! I told him so, and said he should be the one to talk to you this time.”</p><p>Dirk inhales, then lets out all the air, slowly, closes and opens his eyes again. Roxy watches him with the slight anguish painted on her face, and it quickly drifts into an amusement when Dirk grabs her and pulls into the hug.</p><p>“You’re right,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I really appreciate everything you do for me”.<br/>
She pats his back enthusiastically. “I love you too, Strider, just don’t forget to spare some love for yourself, alright?”.<br/>
“Yeah,” Dirk breathes out absentmindedly, and it feels like he’s burning inside with all the guilt in the world. When Roxy turns to talk to Nepeta, he takes the moment and quickly deletes everything he wrote in the morning. </p><p>Dave arrives much later than usual, he briefly salutes his friends at the table and slides right between Dirk and Roxy to take his rightful place, like nothing happened. He’s tousled and all pink and hot from running. “Been doing my evening routine, check this out,” says he, putting his pale lanky leg on a coffee table. There’s a short red sock on his foot, and his other leg, one that’s closer to Dirk, has a fresh dark bruise just above the knee. </p><p>Dirk frowns the second he sees it. “What’s that?” Before the whole <em>don’t do it</em> machine springs to the action, Dirk reaches out. Dave stiffens when Dirk touches the bruise, lightly, careful not to press on, then exhales loudly and shrugs. “A trip and a fall. Life is not only about being successful, that’s your lesson for today, mon ami.” </p><p>Dirk watches his eyes, but they’re unchanging, unwavering, and the next second they’re interrupted by Vriska asking loudly if everyone is finished sorting out their personal problems. Dave glances at Dirk quickly, Dirk returns it, and the feeling they’re thinking the same thing is one of the most pleasant things he has ever experienced.</p><p>They play until it’s dark, everyone is confused by time travel, and Nepeta is under the sleeping curse and asleep on Roxy’s lap shortly after. Dave and Dirk try to be more quiet, but no one at the table hears them this way, and Dave finally whispers <em>the podcast is interrupted by sleeping felines,</em> as loud as he can, and carefully untangles from the mess of limbs their couch becomes every time. Dirk follows him. “Let’s take her to the bedroom”, Dave vaguely gestures in the air, and his intonation is more of a question than a proposition, but Roxy shoos them away. Vriska raises her hand to slap on the table, but Terezi swiftly catches it, gently knocks the table instead and announces under the breath that’s all for today. </p><p>John and Karkat leave first. Dirk hears them asking Dave if he wants to crash at their place today, then leaving and closing the door. Dave bursts into the kitchen shortly after, takes someone’s cup standing on the counter and empties it in one fell swoop, then grimaces. “Why is it so hot in here? Also I’m sure peach tea doesn’t taste like that.” He seems annoyed, and Dirk snorts. “Let’s go outside. Have you seen her backyard yet?”</p><p>“What’s in her backyard?” Dave asks, sniffing the cup suspiciously. “Pretty much nothing. You know, backyards. A grill, an inflatable pool, swings. Fucking spiders, real ones this time, cosplay stuff, secret entrances. What’s on yours?”</p><p>Dave’s face changes for a moment, and this time Dirk is sure he’s not imagining it – lips pressed together and a frown – and answers reluctantly “I never go there,” then puts the cup back and turns to the door. “Let’s go swinging and cosplaying and entering entrances, I feel like I could die from overheating here and you will be the one to explain it to everyone”. Dirk follows him to the door, glaring between his shoulders, full of his unusual mood swing. </p><p>It’s fresh and warm outside, and they both trip on the steps. Dave is back to his usual self in an instant, telling Dirk he’s like a ghostly cryptid in a moonlight, and Dirk asks if it’s a compliment. “Nothing but compliments for my dudebro. Can we ride that thing?” He points at the swings, and Dirk shrugs. “If there are no spiders on it”. Dave kicks off his shoes and climbs the wide seat, the determined look on his face is softened by a moonlight.</p><p>The swings screech quietly, but that’s not an annoying screech, it’s a gentle and comforting one, and there’s no spiders around. They sit side to side, Dirk throws his head back slightly and looks to the sky. Dave looks above as well, there are two small moons reflected in his eyes. He taps Dirk’s shoulder lightly and points to the brightly lit Happenstance behind them. “Check if Terezi is looking.”</p><p>“What?” Dirk turns back, but there’s no one, only a door to the back room, opened widely. “Why her?”<br/>
“Can’t give her a pleasure of being avenged,” the answer is in a short whisper, before Dave leans in and kisses him.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a silence, it’s a dead weight, it’s deafening, nothing except for a frantic heartbeat and Dave’s breath on his face. His lips are chapped and warm, and he tastes like a peach tea with vodka and sugar. One of his hands are on Dirk’s knee, and for every place where Dave touches him, he feels so warm and alive that Dirk can feel his throat tighten. Dave draws back, and a smile is still on his lips, and Dirk could kiss it away before it falters, it’s the brief thought and the easiest thing to do, something he would do in any other situation with him, Dave and kisses included, in every other universe, timeline, circumstances, stars aligned. Dirk Strider of this universe doesn’t have such an option. This thought is bitter and liberating at the same time. </p><p>There’s a little line between Dave’s eyebrows and a white, thin scar on his forehead. The face Dirk wants to touch and smooth his worries. Instead he says quietly:<br/>
“It’s not a good idea”.</p><p>“What?” Dave’s smile falters, like someone switched off the light. It hurts to see and it hurts more to be the reason so Dirk continues:<br/>
“I can’t do this. You have no idea what will happen”.</p><p>“What the actual fuck, dude,” Dave moves away, watching him with a wide eyes. “It sounds like insane romcom bullshit. You know, I’m actually amazed by your ability to make it look like it was and wasn’t a dick move at the same time. What’s happening?”</p><p>Dirk sighs. The fresh air suddenly seems cold. “You don't know a thing. Do you really want me to speak about this? I’m not used to it.”<br/>
Dave’s eyebrows are raised, and he draws his knees closer and hugs them. His red socks are slightly wet from stepping on the grass. “Well, maybe it's high time to step up your game and tell me some things, that’s exactly why we’re talking to each other. Let’s go, bro, I’m ready for a fucking 150 slides power point presentation”. He doesn’t look angry at him, yet – or maybe it’s just moonlight making him softer, younger, there’s no way to know for sure, thinks Dirk, and this should have happened long ago. </p><p>He closes his eyes for a second and when he speaks, his voice is steady.<br/>
“I tend to control people, Dave. I make them do what I need. It's even worse with the people I like,” he slightly trips on this one, taken aback by what could be a confession, but Dave doesn’t move an inch, he listens, leaning closer to him. “I'm intense, I'm everywhere, and if I can't know everything and control things that happen, I hurt myself and people around. You don't want it for yourself.”</p><p>He takes a pause to even his breath, and Dave is still silent and watchful, so Dirk continues. “If I assume that something is wrong, I will ask you until you say <em>yes Dirk you fucked up</em>. And even if you don't say it the first time, I'll ask again later, on and on, because nothing is alright when it's with me. I strive to have control on everything but at the end I come at the inability to have it. And I hate it”.'</p><p>The throat burns when he finishes, it’s roughly three times more he ever said to Roxy, and is certainly more he ever said in one day. It’s still surprisingly hard every time, Dave sighs and stands up, he’ll soak his feet completely, Dirk thinks abruptly before Dave starts speaking. </p><p>“Okay, you know what?” Dave makes three steps to the left, to the right, his arms are locked. “Everything you said, just every fucking thing – it’s just some egoistic ass fuckery. You know, an essay on how to be the tragic hero. Not the part on how you feel, that one when you claim you know better.” He stops and this time he’s definitely mad, at least a bit – his arms are shaking slightly, and he’s short on breath. “Stop pulling your anime shit on me. Maybe it’ll come as a surprise for you, but other people can feel insecure too. They share it with people they have around, you know? Who cares about them and stuff”. He drops back on his seat and this time he doesn’t look at Dirk’s face. </p><p>“You don't know what you're talking about,” Dirk’s voice is soft, and that makes Dave perk up with anger again. “I can’t give you what you want. It'll be a disappointment, for you and me both.”</p><p>“Okay, smartass,” Dave spits out, and he’s on his feet again. Dirk stands up too, and Dave is fiery and angry when he pokes his chest with a finger. “Of course, you know better than me what I’m talking about, what I want, it's like we're the same person, huh? Except for, we fucking aren’t, so shut up and let me finish”. He takes a pause to catch his breath, and Dirk wants to hug him, suddenly, it’s so painful to see him distressed, but he’s the reason, and that’s why Dirk doesn’t move an inch. Dave takes a deep breath and says more calmly, looking at Dirk’s face: </p><p>“I don’t care if you have a victim complex the size of a fucking Jupiter and blame yourself on everything that happens. It’s too late, anyway. You’re shoulder deep in my ass, mate, and the only thing left to do is just move your hand left and right like on a puppet show”.<br/>
“Dave, it’s-“</p><p>“Shut the fuck up, I’m not finished,” Dave is fervent and flame. “The thing is. You might be fucking surprised but you need two people to make that work. And I’m fucking telling you, I’m willing to be the second player. I’m fucking Luigi, Lawliet, Chris Cole, you name it. I’m ready to tell you exactly where you fucked up so you don't need to tell yourself every time.”</p><p>“Dave-” Dirk steps closer to him, and Dave raises his arms. “Another word on how you know better and I’ll end you, I swear”.<br/>
Dirk slowly touches his wet cheek and Dave doesn’t go away, he leans in and Dirk can’t stop himself hugging him this time, he does and mutters: “Who the fuck is Chris Cole?” </p><p>Dave rolls his eyes and gives into the hug. “Holy fuck, can’t believe I kissed you, can I ask for the refund? Also your first lesson on fuck-ups for today: you still haven’t said sorry”.<br/>
“You save <em>sorry</em> for the old ladies in the queue,” says Dirk slowly, his heart is in his throat already. “I’d rather said <em>oh fuck sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you</em>”.</p><p>
  <em>Did I?</em>
</p><p>“Hasn’t it mended everything in an instant?” Dave asks somewhere in his t-shirt. This is funny, Dirk thinks and he laughs, he really does it. “It hasn't.”</p><p>“Good, it shouldn’t, or I’d suspect you in making this shit up.”</p><p>Dirk only strokes his back as an answer, mechanically, swallows a lump in his throat and thinks: it’ll be easier to get used to than he thought, he’ll like it, he will.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>